


seeing blue

by peanutbrain



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Angst, Fantasizing, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, One-Sided Attraction, Or Is It?, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbrain/pseuds/peanutbrain
Summary: One word rolls off his tongue like a chant.Omega, Omega, Omega.
Relationships: Aether Ghoul | Omega Ghoul/Papa Emeritus III, Kinda - Relationship, Papa Emeritus III/Original Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	seeing blue

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this is for Berry
> 
> i hope y'all don't die of cringe, 'cos i sure was close to

He knows there are rumours about him wherever he goes, circulating like some sort of open secret that never fully leaves festival grounds. They're passed from guest to guest, worker to worker, volunteer to volunteer, until finally someone feels brave enough to test them. Sometimes, that someone catches his eye.

Sometimes, he feels like confirming those rumours. 

(After all, what happens at a festival, stays at a festival.)

—

They say he has a type and maybe there is something to it. He likes them tall and beefy, but only _just so_. He likes it when their eyes are blue, even if he never actually looks at them long enough to see. He likes it when their hands are big and beautiful and nimble.

But most of all, he likes them with no strings attached.

—

The one he chooses that night is not exactly his ideal type. He's tall enough but skinny; way too skinny, though Papa's desperate enough to let it slide. He has long hair and the beginnings of a beard forming along his jawline. His eyes look jet black in the dim lighting of an outdoor drink bar.

He has long, graceful fingers of a guitarist that look especially pretty holding a cigarette. His other hand fiddles mindlessly with a lighter. 

That is what draws Papa's attention. 

Their eyes lock from across the crowded bar and Papa nods slightly, raising his drink in a mock toast, licking his lips. There's a _click_ , a silent understanding of sorts, and they both know exactly how the night is going to go from there.

(He asks the man about his name out of politeness. He will forget it after they're done.)

—

Another rumour has it, he likes it rough and quick; never face to face, unless one of them is on his knees. There are no loving touches or sweet words or post-sex cuddles. He leaves as soon as it's done.

_Thank you and goodbye._

That way, it's almost impersonal. 

—

They end up in the back of a van. It has been converted into a small living space and there's a mattress that doesn't look at all comfortable, but it will have to do.

They're kissing before the man even closes the door.

A desperate, hungry feeling is crawling under Papa's skin; clawing at his insides like a feral beast fighting to be freed. He grabs the man by the collar of his t-shirt and crashes their lips together. Doesn't let him go until they're both gasping for breath, tearing at each other's clothes with frantic urgency.

There's pure lust burning low in his abdomen and a painful feeling in his chest that he doesn't want to name.

(Longing. It stabs a hole in his heart.)

His eyes are closed. He doesn't open them even when he's stripped bare and pushed face-first into the mattress by hands that are too thin. 

In his mind, he's seeing blue. 

—

Blue eyes behind a mask. 

Gentle fingers on his chin, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. The faint press of metal rings, strangely warm against his skin.

A kind voice that rumbles like the echo of a distant thunder. 

—

He trembles when he's close to orgasm. 

Kneeling on the mattress with his head tilted back by the fist in his hair, he rocks his hips in time to meet his partner's thrusts. The pace they've set is ever-increasing. There are fingers digging painfully into his hip bone and his own hand is between his legs, but he keeps losing the rhythm the closer he gets.

A string of curse words and half-formed praises falls from behind him in an unfamiliar voice, but he's too far gone to care.

All he can do is bite his lip to keep himself from babbling. 

—

(This is what the rumours don't mention.)

When fantasy takes over, he's back home, in his own bed, and the hands touching his body are firm but gentle. There's a low rumble in his ear, whispering praises and words of love. Soft lips pepper his neck and shoulders with small kisses. Strong arms hold him close as he trembles and comes undone.

He feels loved; feels like he belongs. It makes him want to cry.

One word rolls off his tongue like a chant.

_Omega, Omega, Omega._

—

He comes with that name on his lips, whimpered into a dusty pillow. It goes unnoticed: his partner's blindsided by his own climax, head thrown back and a long _oh_ frozen on his lips. They collapse together onto the mattress, panting and content.

For a blissful, blessed moment, he's floating between fantasy and reality, yet free of both. It lasts until he has to open his eyes.

The man offers him a cigarette, but he declines; cleans himself up as best he can and gets dressed, avoiding the other man's gaze. He's still feeling the effects of the afterglow and it makes him sleepy, but he's determined to leave and _now_. He kisses his lover on the cheek as a thank you before they part.

He hopes they'll never see each other again.

—

Sometimes he wonders if the ghouls know about the rumours, and if they do, whether or not they believe them. He thinks that they most likely don't care. 

(And if there's a hint of longing in Omega's blue eyes—that is a fantasy for another time.)


End file.
